


Elementals and Thumbs

by Chuck_Johannsen



Category: Richard Struggle
Genre: Creakylid, Enter the Masquerade, F/M, Richard Struggle - Freeform, Struggle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-06-27 17:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15690444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuck_Johannsen/pseuds/Chuck_Johannsen
Summary: Thorvald is an Elemental, readying himself to enter the unknown realms. A friend stops by to ask a serious question... no hijinks ensue.A fanfic of the Richard Struggle: Enter the Masquerade





	1. Chapter 1

     When the Prophecy was sent to all eligible mages, Thorvald had just passed his twentieth birthday. Fortunately, he’d made it a habit to not perform rituals precisely on birthdays – those things took time, and a birthday was for celebration – which also took time. Between spending a special day with friends, and spending the same special day with a dusty book, he’d chosen friends. Plus, others told him he’d always been a bit of a procrastinator. Don’t do today what you can put off for tomorrow; if it’s important enough to do today, it will be equally important tomorrow as well – one possible interpretation.

     But there were alternate views; he personally felt kinship with mountains. They were patient, relentlessly patient. Storms rocketed around their shoulders, like fleecy jackets that sometimes threw lightning bolts. An Elemental had to be just as patient, mastering his chosen element with the same dedicated focus a mountain gave itself. Growth came from within, aided by external forces at odd intervals, not leaps of fancy and spectacular displays. Legends were legendary for a reason.

     “Thorvald?”

     He raised his head, lowering a book to the desk. Its thickness matched the width of other texts on his bookshelves. “Hey Lena, something wrong?”

     His guest smiled awkwardly. “Um, not exactly. Uh, got a minute?”

     Thorvald rose, gesturing at the chair while shifting his large frame to the bed. “Have a seat.”

     “Thanks.”

     He watched her fidget, patiently waiting. They’d known each other for a few years as a friend of his sister; she’d displayed a quirky personality he’d grown to like. In turn she seemed to appreciate his dry wit, rarely displayed. Not that either of them had acted upon the attraction, there was plenty of time – until the first True Prophecy in centuries had been released. In the chaos, no one had known what to think, except possibly prepare for the worst and hope for the best. Both of their families had gone into overdrive, researching survival techniques without technology, or in his own case, making the basic materials into a new technology.

     She tilted his book, glancing at its spine. “Industrial Techniques of the Nineteenth Century? What’s that for?”

     Thorvald accepted her evasion – he could be patient. “Factories need metals, but there are no foundries in Creakylid. If I can figure out how to make metal without an Iron Elemental, I could do much more on my own.”

     Lena cocked her head to one side, dark red hair spilling after it. “But – we have Iron Elementals. My Dad’s one; why bother?”

     Thorvald lowered his head. He hated good-byes. “Lena, we don’t know if we’ll wind up in the same place. Or if iron will be available. Shoot, my family’s setting up for a scouting approach then factory setup; whoever finds the best place calls the others in to help. I can’t imagine your family agreeing to that, can you?”

     A wince crossed her face. “Well actually, um. Wow, this is embarrassing.”

     He just waited, the corner of his mouth escaping control, rising slowly.

     “Stop smiling like that! It’s … very disarming.”

     Manfully, he regained control, folding his hands together. Pressure built up inside though, released only by the rising of a single eyebrow.

     “I mean it Thor! This is hard for me!”

     Instantly he became serious. The only time she used his nickname was when she truly felt vulnerable. “Sorry, how can I help?”

     A low growl rumbled from her lower lip, confusing him as she appeared to be chewing it at the same time. “Look Thor, we’ve been friends for a while, right?”

     He pondered the potential ramifications of answering; there didn’t appear to be a downside, so he nodded slowly. “Yah. Maybe five years?”

     Lena’s lip-chewing stopped. “Yeah, about that. And three months. Maybe a week more … sorry. Rambling. You know I trust you, right?”

     Thorvald fought to keep his eyebrows level. It was a difficult battle, they were expressive implements of his face, constantly expressing his thoughts better than words could say. “I think you trust my sister more, but you’ve known her a lot longer. But I trust you too, you know.”

    For some reason, she blushed. “Thanks. But what I mean is, I _really_ trust you. You won’t make fun of me for a dumb idea, or try to hurt me when I’m down. I really appreciate that.”

     “Oh,” This time he lost the fight, eyebrows went shooting up to meet his sandy-blonde hair. It was a wonder the impact didn’t make some kind of noise. Was he blushing too? The legendary Rockface? “I am – flattered.”

     “Okay, yeah.” Her voice dropped almost below his hearing range. “Come on Lena, you can do this!”

     By now, he was getting worried. While sometimes shy, the girl had never been nervous around him. Did she want to confess to murder? Robbing a bank? A new spell that allowed eyes to see through clothing? Blank space passed before his mental eye, unfocused and unclear; where had that thought come from?

     She lifted her head again. “Look. I want your help. With a Ritual.”

     Time ground to a halt. Thorvald could tell, it had been his second Ritual, enhancing mental activity. Used bookstores held an amazing variety of discarded grimoires; mundanes tended to fall prey to security cantrips, or ignored the entire situation. Locating the _Pensée Accélérée_ had been a stroke of luck above others though – which led to his third ritual from a different grimoire: Control. Combining the two took energy, enough to knock the average Thumb or Whisperer out for a week. An Elemental had to master versions of both before his Fourth Ritual, depending on the element. Nitrogen or Oxygen Elementals could benefit, but didn’t require both; Iron Elementals could gain immense power, but reduced flexibility. There were minor rituals that helped with that though, little tricks anyone could add to their shot-locker.

     Thorvald dragged his mind back on point. Lena wanted him to help her. With a Ritual. Only trusted – very trusted – people were asked such a thing. Viewing someone’s Ritual bared their soul, their fears and hopes, along with the strengths gained over the years. Exposure to an enemy mage during such a vulnerability had been made a treasonous offence in four of the sub-Council districts he knew. In some regions, it was considered a particularly intimate courting gesture.

     Well. He’d been having thoughts along those lines for a while now. Thoughts that culminated in a mental sigh, working its way through his thoughts, the mental trick winding down. He made his decision.

     “I would be honored,” he lowered his head. It was an honor; and he knew it.

     Relief swept over her face like a massive storm receding from the sky. Perhaps it was time for a mild prank, for all the worry she’d just put him through?

     “If,” he continued, pausing just long enough for her mind to begin working furiously. People were funny that way, millennia of practicing vigilance, anticipating danger or looking for predators could never be fully eradicated from even the most sophisticated of minds. Politicians played that game all the time – but comedians were true masters of the craft. “You help me with mine.”

     Her face froze, locked in place for two breaths. The edges of her mouth quivered, trembling just enough to make him worried. Perhaps he’d pushed a bit too far?

     A fist slapped his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt. “Jerk.” Her smile let him know all was forgiven.

     “So then,” Thorvald eased himself a bit closer. “What would the illustrious Lady Lena require from a humble Elemental?”

     “Two things, first: logic.” She waited a moment, making sure his attention was fully engaged. “Your family has been looking into computers ever since the Prophecy came out. So has mine. I’m a Thumb, a _Gossypium_ specialty, you can’t make too many computers with cotton.”

     Thorvald shrugged in return. “I chose Magnesium. Not much better.”

     “You can make cases out of magnesium though,” Lena countered. “Not that it would be safe, but it would work for the basic units. Ford makes pickups with magnesium radiator frameworks, and that’s on a machine that uses controlled explosions for energy.”

     “Point,” he agreed. “But we’re talking about your ritual. What do you need me to do, exactly?”

     A stack of small books appeared on his desk; from a space he’d been sure was empty before. Thorvald shook his head, her backpack lay on the floor, he’d been distracted.

     “My first three rituals were the Thumb selection, Fertility, and Strength,” Lena flipped open a notebook, pen markings covering its pages. “I’ve been considering what to do for my Fourth Ritual. I could do a repeat of either of the first, but it’s a cash crop, pretty prolific as it is, and I can’t see too much of an advantage in giving cotton more strength.”

     Thorvald thought for a moment. “Stronger clothes would be better for travelers,” he pointed out. “Boost it enough with some secondary rituals and you could make armor-grade cotton.”

     A dismissive wave gave her opinion. “I can do the same thing with a few secondary rituals. Another Strength would increase the base level, but face facts: if people want armor, they’ll go with leather or metal. It takes far less energy to strengthen those.”

    “All right,” he tilted his head back, studying the ceiling for a moment. “What else do you have in mind?”

     Another page flipped open. “I could do an Acceleration, help the plant grow more quickly. Or a Resistance, make it impervious to disease and pests. Then there’s an old Iron Root ritual I found, it can make the cotton grow in any kind of soil – I really wish I’d found that one when I’d turned ten. I could have practiced with seeds in a water tray for ten years then.”

     “Hmmm,” Thorvald gave his mind a mild acceleration, feeling the strain as it did so. “What about paybacks? Which will cost the least per use?”

     Lena checked her notes. “Resistance takes the most, then Iron Root, then Acceleration.”

     He nodded along, that sounded right. “Got it so far. Ah, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you choose Fertility and Strength first?”

     “Growth time,” she responded instantly. “I’ve spent the most time working on those skills. When I have seeds, I can guarantee a ninety-five percent reproduction potential, and each seed will produce cotton that will resist tearing. If I’d found the Acceleration or Iron Roots first, I might have done those – more plants to practice on, or practice in different conditions. I’m good at the first two though, can’t go back and do a reboot. Speaking of which, what did you take?”

     “ _Pensée Accélérée_ and Control.” Thorvald scratched his head, “Um, second and third rituals. My first one was Elemental, and Magnesium of course. Folks wanted me to go for something a little less generic, but I’m glad I didn’t now.”

     “Why?” her head tilted, an annoyingly cute trait he found himself liking.

     “Magnesium is number twelve on the Table,” Thorvald reached to the headboard, pulling a chart off a stack of papers. The rest of the papers chose that moment to embrace the seductive call of gravity, flinging themselves into the abyss with wild abandon. He had to stop until the last paper finished skidding across the floor. “Sorry about the mess. Where was I – twelve. Yes. It’s also an alkaline earth metal, fourth most abundant element on earth, after iron, oxygen and silicon.”

     An eyebrow arched itself at him. “And you picked it at age five because …?”

     “I was almost six,” he protested. When her look didn’t change, he looked down, mumbling.

     She smirked. “What was that?”

     “I said, it made a nice explosion.” Thorvald grumbled. “I’m a male. Males are required to appreciate things that either go boom, or have that potential.”

     Lena’s smirk grew predatory. “We’ll get back to that. Why Control and – pensay accelr-something?”

     “ _Pensée Accélérée_ ,” Thorvald repeated. “It means ‘accelerated thought.’ Found it in an old French grimoire on Fifth Avenue. Last Chance bookstore, you know? I liked what it could do, give me more time to think, a bit more flexibility for any – ah – explosive situations. Control was necessary for working with metal, and possibly computers. One static touch and months of resources are gone. Plus, if you aren’t careful, magnesium can blow up in your face. When that stuff goes ….”

     “It really _goes,”_ Lena finished. “I know, you showed off a few times. My eyebrows finally came back last year.”

     “Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” Thorvald felt himself turning a little red. “I kinda thought you were mad about that – and didn’t you have eyebrows at the Christmas party two years ago?”

     “Makeup. And I am.” Her predatory gaze darkened. “But back to my … problem?”

     “Please?” Thorvald wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – let himself sag in relief. He’d seen Lena tear apart a Council official for crimes less offensive than marring her appearance. She took pride in her beauty, justified in his opinion.

     “The second part is a bit – trickier. Even if I take Acceleration, I’ll be exhausted after a few minutes in the field. Have you experienced a full shutdown?” She didn’t wait for his response, almost rushing on, a strong blush working up her cheeks. “I was flat  
on my back in the dirt. Dad found me, almost freaked out until I told him what happened. I can’t risk that in Creakylid, what if there are big predators? Other mages? I can’t exactly throw plants around, especially if I’m barely breathing.”

     “Ah.” Thorvald stretched his neck. Then brain matter caught up to the unspoken request. He snapped his head around, wincing as a crick made its irritation known. “Wait, you want to go with me? We haven’t even, ah, gone out. Isn’t this a little fast?”

     She shrugged, still red-faced. “If I waited for you to make a move, I’d be sitting here until Doomsday. You’re cute, intelligent, and strong – if exasperatingly dense at times. If I didn’t at least try, someone else would have. I talked to your sister first by the way.”

     Thorvald felt a headache coming on, using thought acceleration had costs other than energy. “I didn’t think … you … my sister?”

     “So articulate,” her sky-blue eyes rolled. “Yes. Your sister. She threatened me with a long, painful death if I hurt you, a family tradition I guess?”

     Thorvald tried his best to quickly bury memories of his sister’s ex-suitor. Especially how he’d been convinced to leave. “Something like that.”

     “Exactly,” Lena bounced back in the chair. The blush hadn’t faded. “So are you going to leave me hanging? It’s taken me over two months to work up the nerve here you know.”

     This time Thorvald pushed his _Pensée Accélérée_ to its full strength. Maybe three seconds real-time, two minutes accelerated time. _Do I want to turn her down? No, not really. Changes plans – worth it._

     “Lena Agnete Georgson,” he had to smother a smirk as her eyes grew large. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me on this journey, as my girlfriend?”

     She launched herself over the desk, arms wrapping around him. “Finally!”

     Some basic survival instinct guided his own arms into place around her. It felt … right. His mind treacherously began thinking of altered plans, maps with different trails he could follow now that two people were involved. Then a sharp spike from the lizard-like portion drove his attention back to the excited female attempting to cut off his air supply, demanding attention. Thorvald mentally shelved his plans, plenty of time for that later. He could wait.

     Mountains had patience. So did he.


	2. Preparations

Thorvald checked his pack. Its coloration was nauseating on multiple levels, blending into a neutral hue when seen from afar. Or, so it was hoped. Perhaps by color-blind parakeets, raised in a circus tent. By half-blind clowns.  
  
    Shoving the comparison to the back of his mind, Thorvald meticulously went over the pack’s basic parts. Supporting rods gave a rigid frame, beloved to hikers everywhere. Thick neoprene panels added to the construct’s strength, waterproof for a given value of ‘proof’ – he knew from experience that complete submersion tested the guarantee. But what interested him was the innate properties within the pack, repelling the less magical half of society, permitting freedom of movement for those that were not so handicapped. Morally speaking, it felt gray – saving lives from doom, through deception; were the ends justifying the means?  
  
    He had to sit back and think. Facts existed beyond ideals; magic could not be appreciated by everyone, the European Witch Trials had proven that – but at the same time, the Salem Witch Trials had been stopped at a mere thirteen deaths, by a local minister. Two events in the same direction, one that could be counted in the missing fatalities.  
      
    Regardless, negative data did not count for much to the average mind. The centuries-long European experience gave a deep sense of paranoia to those with the Gift, and Americans were paranoid as a society. It was almost poetic how part of that paranoia had resulted in a clever gift, developed by a family name so paranoid only a handful could say it. Thorvald didn’t know what the Council had paid, inducing the unknown family to share so many warding charms. All he knew was that it had to have been a king’s ransom; an island perhaps, or promised resources? Such a fearful family would avoid leadership like a plague – it would pinpoint their gift to any aggressive member of society.  
      
    The un-Gifted held no monopoly on savagery, after all.  
      
    “What do you think?” He asked Lena. She was comfortably ensconced in a chair to one side, warm feet propped in his lap. The realm of relationships was new to him, but it seemed a harmless enough position.   
      
    “Well, that could be it,” she pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. He loved when she did that – most of what she did was cute. When the ‘honeymoon phase’ ended, he’d be morose, he just knew it. “But – what if that family wants to make as much as they can, before the entire market vanishes? Nobody can sell snow to an eskimo.”  
  
    He pondered that a moment, nodding slow approval. “Can’t use it to repel mages … maybe.”  
Lena shrugged again, the motion spilling a long braid off one shoulder. “I think it could. I mean, the only problem I see is that you might repel yourself. Lots of work, but the potential is there.” “ She flipped the braid back again, changing the subject. “How’s your gear?”  
  
    “Good.” Thorvald stretched his hand, flexing muscles in his mind. Bits and pieces of magnesium slipped free from the pack’s framework, floating into place over his hand. The mental discipline stretched on command, solidifying dozens of shards into a single flat ingot. “Found spots for maybe two or three of these. I could expand the frame a bit, but regs frown on that. Uniform size, gotta be the same. Everything we want to bring has to be in the pack.”  
  
    Her snort sounded most un-ladylike. “So they want us to parade in naked? Get real; the big stuff has to be in the bag. I’m sure we can bring a few things. Holsters, watches, maybe a fannypack?”  
  
    Throvald sighed. “Tried that last one, apparently extra cargo is not allowed.”  
A vague grunt indicated her displeasure. The safest plan seemed to involve remaining silent.  
The silence continued for nearly a quarter of an hour, Thorvald deeply engrossed in the motions of his backpack while his new – and only – girlfriend continuing her ruminating. There was something right about the situation. Over the soft clicks and hisses of moving magnesium he could hear his parents conversing two floors below, and his sister talking on the phone with some museum. The entire family had thrown every resource into the fray, leveraging as much knowledge as possible. It was the only thing to do: the entire family would be leaving soon, and leaving resources behind would be foolish at the utmost.  
  
    “Hey, Thor?”  
  
    He lowered his pack once more, giving her his full attention.  
  
    “Does your family have any artifacts they’re going to bring along? I – I mean, if you can tell me?”  
Thorvald lifted his eyebrows. “You’re as close to family as you can get, without actually taking vows. Are you having second thoughts?”  
Blonde hair flew, her head shook so fast. “No! It’s just – artifacts are kinda personal. We just got together a week ago. So ….”  
Thorvald reached down. His hands dwarfed her feet, but the tension radiating from the small woman was obvious. Gently, he pushed his thumbs into the muscle, easing the stiffness, working out the fear by touch. After a few minutes, he started moving up her ankles, chasing the stiffness away.  
      
    “We don’t have many, but there are always a few lying around. I think Mina’s getting the Orb – she’s an Oxygen elemental you know. The folks will be taking a medi-glass, it helps find infection. With their medical training it’ll be better in their hands.”  
“Really?” Her head tipped to one side, then frowned as his hands stopped. The frown increased until he resumed. “What do they do? Who made them?”  
      
    Thorvald put her feet down, ignoring the irritated sigh from her seat. “The Orb of Ascendance, we don’t know who made it. Presumably an Oxygen Elemental at least two centuries ago; it makes concentration much easier. So far as I understand, it serves as a catalyst for motion, enhancing molecular motion. “  
      
    “Two centuries?” the feet had somehow found their way back onto his lap.  
      
    “There’s some old writing on the sides, a dedication that was removed with an acid bath or something. Given the dedication, and the – ah – scratches, and since Dad found it in a garage sale, we think it was a gift poorly received. Or someone backstabbed someone, and it was thrown out. Or stolen? Anyway, we’ve been unable to find the original owner, and Oxygen Elementals are pretty common, up until the last century or so. Steam power, you know.”  
      
    Lena groaned happily as his hands started their work once more. “And the glass thing?”  
      
    “Hmm, the medic-glass.” Thorvald adjusted his position. “The medi-glass was great-great-grandpa Olsen’s, back in Sweden. He was a physician for the Court of Kings, back in the eighteenth century. A Thumb named Anders Dahl created the Glass, after researching plant infections. The notes he left are incomplete, but it seems common sense worked where logic failed. Somehow, he made it work. Open cuts, old injuries, if you look at it through the glass, it highlights the infection. If the other notes are accurate, it’s stopped a lot of epidemics before they get started.”  
      
    The moving hands slowed to a stop, then moved on, lightly tapping her leg. “How about you? Anything you’re bringing along?”  
An adorable smile crossed her face. “Yes, actually. I have a trowel grandma left me, made maybe three generations back? It has a Ducal emblem on the back, visible only to Thumbs. I think it was a hobbyist tool back then; useful, but not for large fields.”  
“Really?” Thorvald stretched his upper back. Muscles rippled, sending a vertebrae popped into place. The guttural sigh gave a sense of satisfaction. “What does it do?”  
  
    A mischievous grin gave the young woman a pixie-like air. “It adds fertilizer to the soil. So if you keep it near a manure producer, it will add nitrogen to the soil, without a Nitrogen Elemental. Neat, huh?”  
Thorvald kept his face as still as possible. “Useful.”  
  
    “Isn’t it?” her smile grew. “Just think, we can find some spot out in the wilderness, set up a new house, and have an instant garden! Especially if we can bring in some cattle or sheep. By the way, how are you going to reach your family if you find a good spot out there? Or vice versa, I guess?”  
  
    “Crystals,” Thorvald answered. “Ralph has Memory Palace, and took the Beyond Ritual on his twentieth. So long as we use a shard from his crystal, we can communicate to another shard, or himself. We’ll have to use a crystal off the network to go public, but only from a crystal off his network.”  
  
    She looked surprised. “I didn’t know you could do that, is it …?” Her expression turned nervous. “It’s not some family Blood-Bound secret, is it?”  
  
    Thorvald tugged on Lena’s leg. Her body scooted closer.  
  
    “Thor? What are – hey!”  
  
    He didn’t stop until Lena’s torso lay atop his lap, laughing. He dropped a swift kiss on her forehead. “Lena, my newly-acquired-girlfriend. It’s a secret for now, but I told you: I trust you. In three generations, we might be able to make it Blood-Bound, so I won’t tell you how it’s made. At least, not until you and I make things a little more – official.”  
  
    She studied his face, cheeks still pink from laughing. “I think I could stand that. Someday.”  
  
    “Good.” Thorvald gently tousled her hair. “So what I’ll tell you is that Ralph was trying to impress a girl, and made a mistake. He didn’t want to admit to it though, not in front of a pretty girl, and pretended the whole thing was intentional. Thing is, it worked.”  
  
    A sigh escaped Lena’s form. He could feel its depths travel along her back, almost trembling as it exited. “It seems so far off right now. Going to a new world, leaving everything behind. But, it’s so close too. We’re talking about survival, in a land we know almost nothing about. You know what I mean?”  
  
    Thorvald gathered his girlfriend in a silent hug; empathy was not his strong suit, but even he could fathom the implications. She clung to him in a way he understood – terror of the unknown. It was the same way he felt; exhilaration, anticipation, fear. It was a wonder her body didn’t explode under the pressure, a wonder he didn’t combust from the same force. All he could do was wait out the fear; it would ebb, it always did. Then return to preparations, endless preparations.  
  
    He hoped it would be all that was needed. Hoped.


	3. Down the Rabbit Hole

     “So.”

     Thorvald stretched his back, enjoying the sensation of making vertebrae pop. Individual facets almost groaned with pleasure as he let the pack ease to the ground. Traditional hiking garb felt too hot under the heat of the day; but in the cool just after dawn, it felt just right. Protective, warm, with just the right amount of restrictiveness to encourage care.

     “What do you think?” A female voice interrupted his thoughts.

     He paused, looking back. Lena, his girlfriend-cum-fiancée had an expectant look on her face.

     Quick thought brought nothing to mind. The last topic under discussion consisted of … lunch periods, right? Or perhaps she referred to the settlement on the largest island discovered yet, perhaps? At this point Lena knew how to recognize the _Pensée Accélérée_ technique; how did the speed of thought become so slow? He couldn’t use it without her knowing, and using it in front of her was … well … rude.

     Her long sigh betrayed some unspoken deadline. “You forgot, didn’t you.”

     “No?” it sounded weak, even to his own ears. He gave up the pretense. “Um, which?”

     “Getting a third!”

     Thorvald relaxed; this was familiar ground. “Oh. That.”

     “Yes, _oh that.”_ Irritation colored her tones. “How are we going to do anything set up anything to last out there if we can’t get another girl to help?”

     Thorvald stretched his neck, letting the vertebrae pop in a satisfying manner. People cringed whenever he did that, but not Lena. It was one of the many things he loved about her. Other than her persistence at this particular moment. It was lovable as well, but not on the current subject.

     “Lena, we’re on our way to Creakylid, not some desolate landscape. There will be hundreds of towns. Thousands if the entire population’s going inside. What did the Prophecy say? _‘All those who don’t want to die like dogs’?_ That’s almost everyone I know, forget magicals.”

     “Shh!” his fiancée-slash-girlfriend flapped an admonishing hand anxiously.

     He sighed. Their current path lead straight up a mountainside, winding and twisting up the massive terrain like the efforts of an overly-energetic cake decorator. Other travelers, wearing the same survival-themed gear as he, climbed the same trail, sometimes in pairs but mostly in trios and large groups. It felt akin to the field work he’d done during an exchange program in the States, inside the Upper Peninsula of some place or other. What was its name again? It was a lakeshore, but with sand instead of rocks.

     “We’re safe here,” he muttered. “Not like anything _we_ say could give us away, remember? Now, the lack of common sense shown by these … these _rejects_ from Fashion School on the other hand ….”

     A flustered hand slapped his shoulder, bringing silence once more.

     Another sigh emanated from his large chest. There were times when being in a relationship had its drawbacks. But, he sneaked a glance at the impressive figure at his side, filling out her hiking gear in all the right places; yes, the reward was worth it. It was more than her attractive appearance, which was a benefit all on its own. She was intelligent, wanted to be with him of her own volition, actually had his well-being in mind – and most importantly – was someone he could make happy. Everything else, without the last, was worthless.

     Raising his head, Thorvald checked their progress. The winding path appeared the same as before, but the number of hikers seemed fewer than before.

     “I have my full kit, right?”

     Lena giggled, mood improving in a terrifyingly brief moment. “Yes, Thor. We checked before. In the hotel room, remember?”

     He ignored the turned heads and knowing grins. No one would believe an explanation of two rooms and morning packing routines in a single location. Not after overhearing their previous conversation.

     A faint commotion higher up the mountain made an excellent distraction, attracting the smirking faces in another direction. Thorvald grumbled deep in his throat, delivering a sideways look at his companion. She showed minimal shame, grinning at him without remorse.

     Relenting, he reached over, seizing the strap of her pack. “I’ll take it for a while.”

     She protested. “Hey, I can carry my own gear!”

     “Yeah,” Thorvald slipped the heavy bag off her shoulders, hearing the pop as an improperly fastened strap gave way. “You’re also breathing hard. Take a drink, don’t overdo it.”

     The additional weight slowed his pace, but not by any appreciable margin. This time it was Lena’s turn to grumble, following as he double-timed the ancient path’s infrequent stair steps. “It’s not like I’m built like a moose you know. I can pull my own weight. Not like _some_ people.”

     Thorvald rolled his eyes. “Need a lift? Think I have room for another load if she doesn’t mind hanging on.”

     “Oh shut up.”

     He gave a silent chuckle, careful to not let her see it, and continued.

     The path grew steep, forcing the travelers to lean against the grade. Were outsiders able to see within the mystical barriers preventing surveillance, they would behold an orderly row of humans tilting in place like poorly trained actors on an old comedy. Pine trees echoed their stance, angling upwards from terrain the strongest of mountain goats would find challenging. Some even grew from solid stone, evidence of some ancient power; this _was_ one of the oldest strongholds in all of Europe.

     A sudden thought struck. The large man stepped out of the way, and looked back. A stone ridge provided its bulk as a vantage point.

     “What is it?”

     Scenery spread out below, a decadent image worthy of immortality in some collector’s display. All mountain valleys held a beauty of their own, a subtle wildness that never faded. Here, roads lead in and out of the valley, busses and their kin looking miniaturized in their distant situation. Even smaller dots flowed from invisible doors, people joining the multi-colored trail of mages, forming swarms along the asphalt roadways. From a great height, the dots of color seemed dwarfed by vast swathes of dark green conifers, lightening to the less intense colors of hardwoods further down into the valley. Invasive grasses lined the dark gray-black road, punctuated by specks of green.

     Raising his eyes, Thorvald could see mountains, _true_ mountains stretching across the horizon. White snow blended with ice, reflecting the sunrise’s iridescent sheen. Its brilliance contrasted sharply against bare slopes, rocks and uncultivated earth, transitioning into the same dark greens and browns of hardy pine trees.

     “Thorvald?”

     He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’m being silly.”

     A warm hand snagged his arm, using his greater weight as leverage to haul her up against his side. “I don’t mind. I like silly.”

     Thorvald ignored the sudden bout of coughing erupting from a young man walking by himself.

     “Today, this is the last we’ll see of this place. This world. All of it, the food, the stars … everything. Gone. Once we go down that ladder, it’s not just a phone call or video sequence away; it’s _gone._ ”

     The blonde woman stopped. “It’s just hitting you now, right? What we’re doing?”

     One of his shoulders lifted and fell, making her body sway with the motion. His eyes never left the sun-filled valley, nor the myriad occupants making their final approach to destiny. “Theoretically, yes.”

     “Do you want to stay?” Her voice grew quiet, almost too soft to hear.

     Thorvald looked down into her blue eyes for one long moment. One side of his mouth lifted a fractional amount. “It’s just change, Lena. I’ll get over it.”

     “Good.” Lena’s normal cheerful attitude resumed as if it had never left. The woman hopped off the stone wall, the bouncing causing multiple pairs of eyes to be drawn in her direction. She ignored them all, tugging at Thorvald’s arm. “Come on! You don’t want to be stuck in line all day, do you? That’s why we took off when it was still dark out, right?”

     A laugh forced its way from Thorvald’s throat despite himself. Stars above he loved this woman. “Fine, fine. Keep your shirt on, I’m coming.”

* * *

 

     The line, contrary to his expectations, did not exist in a reduced state in the early hours. The sun had risen well above the horizon by now, burning the morning coolness into a sun-baked heat. Mountain sunrises were beautiful, but cool; the nights colder still. But reduced atmosphere granted a higher intensity to the sun’s rays during the day. Increased proximity to that source of suntans and endless numbers of beach deities meant less to filter out the more harmful aspects … which was making Thorvald nervous.

     Patient, but with an increasing sense of urgency, he dug into his pockets, finally withdrawing the field guide hat stashed away for just such a situation. Its khaki brim extended a few inches over the circumference of his head.

     Now protected from the sun’s wrath, he felt free to look around. This was the largest concentration of magical beings in history, even if all the old tales were true. Most legends limited themselves to one hemisphere, even at their greatest retelling, but this? Every magical being in the entire world was congregating on this single point, the ultimate gathering of their people in a one, tiny location.

     It almost made him stop once again; out of his peripheral, he could see Lena glance up at his hesitancy, concern plain in her eyes. He smiled, letting the tension in his spine relax.

     This was a _Prophecy_. Yes there could be some nebulous, massive plot to kill all magicals while they were in one spot – the European Witch Hunts were notorious for that. But Prophecy came from the gods themselves, and if you could not trust the gods, who could you trust?

     “Um, Thor?” Lena’s arm, linked through his, pulled him downward just a fraction of an inch. It was a pleasant diversion from heavy thoughts. “Remember that letter I told you about? About the daughter of Dad’s friend?”

     “Ya?” He cast another look around. There were guards at the entrances, a few grim representatives standing by a secure looking doorway. Unlike the majority of mages, they carried large spears, wooden affairs tipped with the carbon-base materials no magician could affect. Everyone gave them a wide berth – not terribly dissimilar to how law enforcement officers were treated by non-mages. “Hence that discussion we had this morning.”

     Lena stood on tiptoe, looking around as well. “He said she was going to meet us here, right?”

     “Ya,” he said again. Where those guards looking at him funny? No, just his imagination. Their conversation had included the various dubious business practices of her father’s friend. If Lena hadn’t actually begged, he wouldn’t have had anything to do with suspect woman. As it was, everything was _probably_ going to be fine.

_‘Most likely.’_

_‘Very low chances of anything going wrong.’_

     Thorvald inhaled a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it go. _‘We’re borked.’_

     “Just stay calm, and don’t bring extra attention to yourself,” the blonde woman muttered. She seemed unaware of the curious looks, bored passers-by watching the strange woman trying to talk out of the corner of her mouth. “We’ll meet up, go through processing, and get out. No problems, no issues, and no angry mothers looking for wayward daughters. No Council officials looking for smugglers.”

     Thorvald sighed again.

     “I’m serious!” she insisted. “It’ll be just fine. There’s a boat from The First Island, and after that we can take a boat to anywhere from The Second Island.”

      He held back another snort. “Perhaps to The Third Island? Or maybe we will discover an entirely new landmass, and call it the Fifth Island? Or New Continent?”

      “Tell you what,” she returned. “You find a new landmass, write the first book about it, and name it anything you want. Fair?”

     “Yes dear.” In his mind, Thorvald thanked his father for some of the best advice a parental figure ever gave. Magic words that no sorcerer could hope to supersede in maintaining familial relations.

     A rustle from the long line ahead tugged at his attention. The group perked up, paying attention now that something was happening.

     “If I may have your attention please? Your attention please!” A new figure stood at the front, one of the Overseers in charge of the transfer process. She seemed of the type one would hesitate to call _heavyset_ , but no one would dare call her _thin_ either. “Can everyone hear me? Good.”

     Thorvald’s eyes flicked down, to where Lena’s lesser stature prevented her from sharing the sight, and a sense of decorum stopped her from childish leaping. He wasn’t sure he wanted other men to see the result of that anyway. And … her eyes had turned to him. Large, soulful eyes, gazing upon him with utmost trust.

     "Don’t do that to me,” he muttered. “Not here. Not now.”

     Lena tilted her head a fraction of an inch. Silky hair swayed with the motion, spilling to one side as somehow, she peered at him through her eyelashes. Utter faith in his every decision seemed to radiate from those eyes.

     Thorvald muttered something underneath his breath, but Lena just smiled. “Thanks, Thor.”

     Leaning down, he laid gentle hands on her hips. A minor jump on her behalf, combined with a lunge, and his fiancée was seated upon his shoulders, a much wider surface now than they had once been. One of her hands wrapped around the side of his head, making a weak grip, but the rest of her certainty came from the leverage provided by her legs, clenched around his shoulders.

     “Yes,” the Overseer seemed to be answering a question from a closer traveler. “You will be able to keep your place in line. Now, for everyone that might not have heard the first time, there was a situation in the Office; we had to close the main building, and it will remain closed for the next half hour. If you have already checked in, you may proceed as planned. If not, please take advantage of the shade on the east side of the courtyard, and complimentary water stations.”

     Already the line had bent outwards, shifting like a wave across the sandy shoreline. Thorvald wandered in the same direction, Lena swaying overhead. He could see several children being hoisted up in similar fashion, as well as a number of young women with rapidly paling counterparts. He had to hide a smirk.

     “Once again, thank you all for your patience. When we open the office again, we’ll double the personnel; our apology for the wait.”

     Just as the two reached the shade, he noticed a young woman squeeze between a pair of corpulent matrons. Ignoring the indignant squawking, she made a beeline directly to his position, a smile widening all the time.

     A sneaking suspicion wriggled in the back of his mind. Thorvald rolled his shoulders, a tacit suggestion that his burden consider descending. He raised a hand, pushing her thigh in a quiet hint.

     The burden made no move to accept.

     Less than five yards away, the young woman paused, looking down at a photograph in one hand. Every few seconds her blue eyes would dart back to Thorvald, as if checking to make sure he was still there. Three heartbeats later, Lena still incognizant, the young woman’s face broke into a wide smile. She smashed the paper into a pocket of her oversized backpack, and sprinted in their direction.

     “Lena, hang on!” Thorvald let go with one hand – he’d be _damned_ if anything made Lena fall on his watch – and lowered his center of gravity.

     As if recognizing the motion and taking it for a challenge, the young woman subtly shifted, throwing her entire body into a leap. “Lena! There you are!”

     Thorvald took the impact, receiving her full weight in the upper pectorals. While being tackled by an enthusiastic young woman was a pleasant sensation, his center of gravity elected to become confused. On his shoulders, Lena emitted what they’d later disagree as either a shriek of surprise, or a kind of _squeezing_ noise more often observed in the realm of young girls and their first unicorn encounter. Regardless, their combined weight altered the mutual balance shared between the initial pair into the physics-decreed location for a trio.

     He hit the ground, twisting so the two women would not spill over – although having the wind knocked out of him was unpleasant.

     “Thorvald!” Lena hopped off, accidentally dropping her knee in his abdominal region.

     Unable to respond, Thorvald tried to straighten out, immediately stopping when firm commands from his stomach demanded. Fortunately, the woman formerly atop his shoulders, now in a half-kneeling position near his head, spoke up.

     “Oh, hey Jenna. You _are_ Jenna, aren’t you?”

     The newcomer rolled off Thorvald, coming to a half-kneeling posture of her own. “Of course? I don’t go around glomping just anyone, do I?”

     Lena shrugged. “How would I know? Oh, and if you do that to Thorvald again, I’m sitting on your head.”

     From his prone position, Thorvald could get a better look. As his earlier observation had noted, she was an attractive young woman, long dark hair complementing a set of pale blue eyes, almost gray in hue. Like Lena she possessed what a friend’s father, who fancied himself a cultured linguist, had called ‘exuberant womanhood’. Fair skin contrasted with her brunette hair, mostly hidden beneath a full set of hiking gear. What he _could_ see strongly suggested an active lifestyle, and an excellent penchant for survival in her heritage. The pack she carried was heavier than most; feeling the mass pin his leg to the ground for a few moments had taught him that. But at least she’d strapped it on well enough; it came off his leg as she did.

     “Sorry, is he alright?” The brunette started to put a hand on Thorvald’s shoulder, but changed directions last moment.

     He wasn’t sure why his forehead was a better place. Breathing, he had to focus on breathing.

     “Just lost his breath, he’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

     Turning away from the warm hand on the hot day, Thorvald noticed several uniformed personnel approaching, each bearing the Council insignia. One carried the formidable spear of his office, in a rest position, but more than enough warning. The lead was male, tall and imposing in his uniform while the following pair were of matching height, if opposite appearance. One made Thorvald think oddly of a fire-plug, whilst the other could not have weighed over a third his own weight if carrying anvils in her pockets.

     Wheezing a bit, he struggled to rise. Lena helping, while Jenna re-settled her pack. The officer stopped, a few steps away. The glittering triple chevrons of a sergeant’s rank winked at the small group from the officer’s uniform. “Is something wrong here?”

     Thorvald gave as much of a reassuring smile as he could. “Nothing’s wrong … just … got the wind … knocked out … of me.”

     “Ah. My condolences,” the officer smirked. The unprofessional look vanished. “May I be of assistance?”

     Lena dropped a supportive hand on Thorvald’s elbow. “Thank you, we’ll be fine.”

     “Carry on then – yes? What is it?” One of the shorter women behind the officer was staring at Jenna. Thorvald felt a shiver run down his spine as both spear women focused at his recent acquaintance.

     After another moments conversation, the officer turned back. “Right. I’m Sergeant Kala. Your pardon, but may I see some ID for you three?”

     Thorvald exchanged looks with Lena as the svelte brunette at their side instantly pulled out a passport, offering it to the officer before shrinking back to lean into his side.  His fiancée handed over her own, taking his from the backpack’s side pocket, looking irritated as the dark-haired woman molded herself against his side, pressing her considerable assets against the back of his left arm.

     After another long gathering of heartbeats, the sergeant frowned. “I see. Miss … Trixie Feldberg, could I ask you to come with me?”

     His blood ran cold. _Trixie_? What was Jenna’s – falsified. Either to him, or on her passport. Fake passports meant illegal. There were legends about how this country’s penitentiary system chewed up malefactors and spat them out years later.

     The guards, unique spears lowered from their resting position, were more than close enough to communicate while their officer stood at ease. The closest one jerked the haft in a clear gesture, its razor-sharp blade not straying a fraction further than absolute control allowed.

     Thinking fast, Thorvald obeyed the silent command, moving to one side. Never had he been more grateful for the _Pensée Accélérée_ technique; no matter what happened, what story could be spun, this would _not_ end well. Could he charge the guards? Unlikely; he was talented, but these were professionals, backup only a panicked scream away. Could Lena make a plant collapse – no. The nearest potential target rooted into a flower bed fifty feet away. No, this was not good, he could be accused of kidnapping, forcing a woman to use up her Rituals in one angle. Dark tales abounded there, women whom had performed the Human Whisperer rituals all the way to the ultimate goal, already finely balanced on sanity but some tipping their Triads off the edge into ….

     Inspiration struck.

     “Thank you,” he adopted a relieved expression. Emotion could not be judged in full accuracy. Confusion could be seen as anger, fear mistaken for surprise; that was his only advantage. “She has been getting a little restless. Somewhat unruly, actually.”

     Jenna squirmed a little closer, smiling up at him. “Oh, you say the sweetest things darling.”

     The guard ushered them closer to the edge of the portico, out of sight of the long lines. The second guard stood behind the three, far enough to avoid being surprised by an attempt to grab his spear; a tactic Thorvald was glad he’d disregarded. He came back to himself as the guard pulled out a clip board. “Right; now for the record, names and traits?”

     “Thorvald, Grade Five Elemental.” The truth couldn’t hurt, but it could be – embellished a little. He thought quickly. “This is Lena, my fiancée. _Trixie_ here is the daughter of a family friend. They decided this would be a great place to find a good match. Are you single, perchance? I notice you have only one ring on your hand.”

     The guard coughed, “No, thank you sir. Now your fiancée’s traits?”

     “Oh, but you haven’t gotten to know her yet!” Thorvald assumed a slightly maniacal grin, hoping it looked desperate. It didn’t take much. “Her parents would be so thankful if we found a good young man so soon. Why, she wouldn’t even have to travel very far! And you look like a responsible fellow, aren’t you?”

     Kala backed a step; Thorvald got the distinct impression of laughter from the unnamed guard standing behind them. He continued, stretching his smile wider. “You see, I am responsible for her of course, until she finds her perfect pair. If you’re looking to complete your Triad, I’m sure we could work out the contractual obligations in no time.”

     At this point Kala looked red enough to imitate a setting sun. Jenna’s approving murmurs only seeming to make things worse. Her actions gave the impression of sensing that as well, getting more and more demonstrative as the conversation continued.

     “Now then Trixie, remember your promise?” he stopped her hand as it snuck around the small of his back. “You promised to be good or I’d have to make sure you didn’t have another accident. Remember?”

     The woman laughed. “But I don’t _want_ to be good. And you can’t make me!”

     Sighing, Thorvald looked at the guard. “Apologies, sir. This will just take a minute, may I have permission for a small amount of Elemental magic? It will help, I promise.”

     “Yes, please. Go ahead!” Kala had seemed to retreat as far as polite, but still jumped as dirty silver flecks of metal arose from Thorvald’s shoes. The metal spun into a set of elegant cuffs, securing Jenna’s wrists in a modest position before her own stomach. The metal pulsed for a moment, growing into a pair of far more ornate metal bracers, smooth sides creating a binding without risk of chafing.

     “There, thank you. Now, setting aside your potential, was there an issue about the passports? We got them just a few months ago.”

     The sergeant blinked, then looked at his hand, emanating surprise. “Oh, is that all it is? Must have been a new protocol then. Not a problem sir. Please return to your place.”

     The second guard took a half-step. “Sir, I believe we are under –“

     “What’s more, I apologize for this bit of tediousness. Private Grendel will escort you to the line, you may proceed.”

     “But sir –“

     Kala straightened. “A. Direct. Order. Private. Carry it out. _Now._ ”

     Stunned into silence, Thorvald followed the guard back towards the fractured line. _‘I can’t believe that worked ….’_

* * *

 

     In ancient times, the castle had once defended a mountain pass from invading hordes. As property ownership changed hands, and sides, the exact definition of which ‘horde’ being denied access became flexible. Decades turned into centuries, and the changeover became a thing of tradition; in time, trade blossomed along the protected route. When enemies from beyond the old structure’s territory invaded, natives from the affected side would retreat to safety. At some point, a resident mage had noted the situational similarity to an ancient two-faced deity; and the Janus Castle moniker had stuck.

     The Portal, as official terminology called it, resided in the central keep, well above ground level but equally distant from the top floor. Shapeshifting wielders of magic could not have easy access from either direction, and teleportation was the stuff of legends, and therefore impossible.

     Thorvald considered the entire location an absurdity. At this point he’d climbed stairs for over three miles. Three long, painful miles that made his thighs burn.

     “That’s … it?”

     Lena’s voice gave vent to the surprise he was sure he’d feel, if not so winded.

     “A box. An _interesting_ box, but still a box. What’s next, a wardrobe? Maybe a big telephone box?” Jenna held one hand on her hip, head cocked at the artifact. “Not even gold. What is it, orichalcum? Huh.”

     Thorvald finally got to see the fabled entry to a new world. While positioned in the center of an open room, there were faint traces of dust along two sides, indicating a long storage in a poorly ventilated room. Fantastic creatures were carved into its sides, dragons and unicorns set in various poses alongside serpents and things for which he had no name. The wood itself was dark; not the muted tones of ebony or mahogany, but a richer hue he could not recognize. Its style bespoke talent, a relic from an era long before presswood boards and cheap nails. This object was a true masterpiece, not merely _made_ but _crafted_ by someone at the apex of his skill, a master craftsman taught by masters who not only respected their work, but turned it into an art form.

     Beyond that, there was a certain something – different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on any single factor. For one thing, its wide open lid emitted light to the dim room, and he could hear seagulls above the sound of pounding surf. Had it been in the mundane side of things, he would’ve considered it a masterful work of trickery. As this was Magic – Magic at its most powerful – there was only one thing left to do.

     “Well,” he walked forwards, wriggling his shoulders. The backpack lifted and settled, resting comfortably. “Good a box as any to die in.”

     Lena scoffed, smacking his shoulder lightly.

     “If you please, sirs, there is a line.” The local official, protected by no less than two full squads waved an inviting hand towards the bright opening. “Rope for your pack, ladder here.”

     His heart beat faster. This was it. Unending preparation, multiple families entire brainpower and enough resources pooled together to take over a small town. Plans revolving within plans within plans – and it all depended on a short stretch of wood smaller than a bathtub.

     Leaning over, he gave Lena a quick peck on the lips. Before the surprised woman could respond, he swung his legs into the rectangle, and began his descent.

     Below, a stretch of sand lay stretched out. The warmth of an equatorial sun on dry sand came up in waves, heat shimmers visible even from such a lofty altitude. Wood, firm under fingers, seemed to stretch and contort into strange Mobius strip contortions if he looked at it; descending from the sky to the earth brought uncomfortable analogies to mind. Or uplifting ones, depending on the legends considered.

     Rung by rung, Thorvald approached his new home world. The breeze grew stronger, tugging at his jacket, making loose hair whip at different angles. By the time he was halfway down, the entirety of the island was visible, a misshapen, sandy oval in a sea of blue. Gulls orbited the perimeter, riding the air currents as easily as a floating cotton seed. Further out, beyond the breakers, he could see something massive rise out from the water, returning to the depths through a spray of sea water. Nearer to shore, the water turned lighter, the shadowy forms of large marine creatures visible against the pale sand substrate.

     His boots touched ground. Some forward thinking individual had placed a wooden platform there; sand tended to twist ankles. Seconds later, his backpack landed beside the ladder, a device clamped around its diameter unravelling itself without aid, returning to the faint rectangle of light above.

     Thorvald squinted at the sky. The trunk’s opening was almost invisible, lost in the bright sky above. In a few heartbeats, he could see his fiancée downward journey, almost sliding down. Close behind came Jenna, crowding her descent.

     He took advantage of the time to look around again.

     Small crabs clicked across the shoreline, crustaceans moving with some invisible yet unshakable purpose. Birds that resembled sand pipers raced their perpetual contest with the waves; tiny legs flashed like miniature pencils. Closer still he could see the beach grass begin its claim, studding the higher dunes in tufts, grudgingly giving way to the taller shrubs nearer to the island’s center.

     The wildlife nearer to the island’s center seemed far less diverse. Multiple wooden – it would be rude to call them _shacks_ , but what other term was there? – stood in a semicircle. After the Invasive Species Decree made less than a month following the Portal’s revelation, there had been an almost insane level of scrutiny on all incoming packages. Announcements regarding arcane concepts like the _Rule of Tens_ , the _Allee Affect_ and _Species_ _Vectors_ confused more people than a recounting of the War of the Roses. Adding to the confusion, Econo-mages had strongly denounced the limitations, demanding an open-carry law, protecting the individual right to trade in nearly anything.

     Oddly, there had been a near unanimous decision to ban rats, even from the pet trade. The long shadow of the Black Plague was felt, even to this day.

     Soft thuds, of boots on sand, alerted him to his fiancée’s presence. Her pack landed at almost the same time, its rope ascending rapidly. Lena stamped a little, testing the ground before joining him a few steps away. One arm snaked around his waist as she leaned into his side. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

     Thorvald looked down, then back at the horizon. Another massive creature flung itself away from the depths, rotating mid-air to hit the surface as hard as it could. Gulls began to come closer, already associating humans with food.

     “Aye,” he nodded. “That it is.”

     A second arm snagged around his waist from the far side. Jenna’s dark hair made a tickling sensation against the side of his neck. “Hey, you’re supposed to say something like, ‘not as beautiful as you,’ or ‘it sure is’, while looking at us. Respect the classics why don’cha?”

     Thorvald refused to look at the second woman complaining at his side. This … this would be an interesting adventure.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first presentation on Ao3; the editing is a little different from Fanfiction, but I hope to add to this work in the future. Enjoy!


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